


Coffee Cup

by Intergalactic_Octopus



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anxiety, Cultural Differences, M/M, Mertam IRL would have family in northern africa, POC Inquistor, Pining, Qunari Culture and Customs, So his experience borrow from the black dysphoria, Tal-Vashoth Culture and Customs, and racial sterotypes and sterotype fears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 13:06:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11380794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Intergalactic_Octopus/pseuds/Intergalactic_Octopus
Summary: Having a cup of coffee while watching the sun rise was a ritual for Mertam Adaar hardly broke. The blankness of the snow-covered horizon served as perfect place to let his mind wander and reflect on his life as the unlikely leader of the Inquisition.He wonders silently how the people that bow to him truly see him. Do they see him as a leader, fair and just as he tries to be or do they see him as just a beast playing pretend?Iron Bull interrupts Mertam on one of those days, an early morning encounter that fills the Inquisitor with a confusing mix of joy and anxiety.He wonders as well about Bull and what he sees? Does he see him as just man, albeit a recently powerful one, with a confusing crush on him or just another Vashoth who’ll never be his equal?





	Coffee Cup

 

     Mertam Adaar leaned against the battlements of Skyhold and watched the sun rise over the stark white landscape. The morning dew clung to his skin and beard like a thick wet sweater and the steam from his daily cup of coffee certainly didn’t help with the suffocating dampness in the air. Whatever magics that made Skyhold so warm and habitable on top of a frozen mountain made the place a humid wet land in the early morning hours. When the sun finally reached to its apex though it would be comfortable again. It would dry air up and the sweat on his brow would finally evaporate. Until then it was like wading through an actual swamp.

 

     Still, even with all the discomfort, early morning was his time. It was peaceful and his “subjects” were just waking up. The hustle and bustle of the stronghold wouldn’t get into full swing for another hour or so. There were only a few people awake but they did their jobs quietly that he could almost hear the snow shifting and crunching under its own weight in the distance. It was peaceful and the only time he could think to himself without distraction.

 

     Mertam took a sip of coffee, something he’d gotten quite a lot recently from a dazzling Orleasian merchant as a gift. Or a bribe. He’d ask Josephine if the man had asked for special favor but it was the opposite. The Merchant, Douglas something or other, had just been spreading that his coffee was the finest in Orlais. Telling anyone with ears with a boastful, “Why, The Inquisitor has more of my coffee than any other’ around.” Josephine asked if she wanted the rumors put to bed but Mertam only found them amusing. And the coffee was good, so it wasn’t entirely a lie.

 

     He put the cup up to his lips and took a slow sip, savored rich taste and how it heated his insides like the magic of Skyhold. Later the caffeine would make his fingers itch and his magic churn anxiously for action but it was a price worth paying. He had a busy day ahead of him.

 

       _The nobles Josephine want me to talk are coming today. And I believe I’ve got to check with the requisitions officer about new armor for the soldiers. Oh, and Sera wanted to talk about something, didn’t say what. Either it’s Red Jenny mischief or her mischief. Either way, Cullen probably won’t like it. I’ll have to talk to him afterwards if it’s anything he should know…_

           

     He thought over the lists of things that required his attention, knowing he was missing something. For a moment, he considered taking Josephine up on the offer of getting him an assistant but shot it down quickly. There were already too many concerned with his comings and goings for his liking. So many eyes on him daily that he didn’t need another attached to his side like an annoying forest tick.

           

     He wondered how he handled it all. The Inquisition was just a lot for him sometimes.

           

     Before the throne and the fancy clothes and the “Your Highness”, during his mercenary life he dealt with a limited diversity and smaller crowds. Most of his band were either Tal-Vashoth or Vashoth like himself but every now and again a clan-less elf or a hard on their luck dwarf would tag along for a few extra coin. Shokrakar cared little about their race though. If they had a strong back, were willing to work and honored the code of the Valo-Kas as if their life depended on it (which it did), they were welcome enough.

           

     Skyhold was so different though. There was no telling who he’d see on any given day.  Everyone from all walks of life came through the gates by the cart load. Dwarves of all backgrounds, elves from the city or the forests, humans of every coin purse size and from cities he’d never heard of sought out Skyhold for sanctuary or opportunity. It felt like hundreds of eyes were on him at once. This was one of the reasons he enjoyed his morning coffee walks despite how sticky he was.

 

     Sometimes, not often but sometimes, new people were okay though.  Every now and again a Vashoth or Tal-Vashoth would visit Skyhold just to see him.     

           

     Curiosity made them stray from their work to confirm if the rumors were true. Did the humans really have a living deity they bowed to every day that was a Vashoth? Of course, it couldn’t be true, they had to have believed. Humans would never put one of us on a pedestal, they thought before they saw him in the flesh. Truth be told, if he was on the other side of the gate he’d certainly have done the same. It sounded like a story fishing folk made up to pass the time at sea.

           

_“They really have one of those demons leading the Inquisition.”_

_“No!?”_

_“Hand to the maker, I swear it. Bigger than hell and horns like he came from the fade itself.”_

_“Maybe it was just a hat? Or the chair was up high? You do drink too much.”_

_“Eh maybe. It is an **Orlesian** thing. Who knows with them.” _

           

     They’d go back to fishing and telling lies and spreading gossip around the docks for everyone to hear. He’d always welcome them warmly when they realized that nobles were sucking up and fawning over a man who had horns just like theirs.

           

     Those were good days. For once he wasn’t the Vashoth leader. He was simply a brother amongst long separated family. On those days Mertam ate with them and laughed and butted horns until his head hurt. They never stayed long but he always tried to find them work if they were interested in fighting under his flag. All nepotism accusations aside, of course.

           

     There were times when he wanted to invite Iron Bull but he always decided against it. City elves were to the Dalish as Surface Dwarfs were to the Underground Dwarfs and as Tal-Vashoth and Vashoth were to Qunari in the simplest terms. The only difference is that city elves never had to worry about a band of elite Dalish assassins cleaning them out if they caused too much of a ruckus for their liking. Even then, Bull just never seemed interested in joining in the fun when they drank in the tavern. Or maybe he didn’t want to make them uncomfortable with his presence. Or maybe he missed being amongst the Qunari just as much as Mertam missed being with his Vashoth family.

           

     Mertam once asked about it but Bull only snorted and changed the subject to something else. Mertam never asked again. He learned long ago that Bull only told what he wanted and never anything more. That was most likely a result of his Ben-Hassrath training. Mertam couldn’t image what he’d had to go through to always be concealing the truth like that.

           

     “Boss!” A loud and familiar roar of a greeting came from Mertam’s rear and he almost dropped his cup over the edge of the battlement walls. “What are you doing up here so early?” Iron Bull limped next to him, his bad knee giving more pain than it normally did it seemed.

           

     “Good Morning, Bull.” Mertam tipped his cup him in a relaxed greeting but his heart was beating so loudly in his ears he could hardly hear Bull’s feet right next to him. Partially, this was because of the scare Bull caused but also because, Bull was Bull. His heart always tried to escape out of his chest when Bull was nearby. It was that damned smile and even with the pain in his leg, Bull’s grin was as vibrant as ever.  If Bull could see his effect on Mertam he was polite enough not to say anything and embarrass him further. “I should be asking you this, I come up here every morning.” Mertam added after his heart calmed some.

           

     “Aah.” Bull let out a strained growl, stretching out his bad knee slowly and winced through the pain until he stood straight again. He hobbled over to Mertam’s side and settled against the wall on his right side (So he could still see with his good eye probably) and groaned once again. This time the pain come from his back. “My knee, needed to walk on the damn thing. Too stiff when I got up, among other things.” Bull laughed all the way in his stomach at his own dick joke and even elbowed Mertam in the side to make sure the he, _got it._ Bull nearly caused him to spill his coffee for a second time.

           

     Without fail Mertam couldn’t help but think about their difference in height every time Bull stood next to him. Mertam was tall for sure and bigger than everyone in the Inquisition. Unless someone just happened to be standing on a much higher elevation than him, they all had to crane their necks up to speak with him. And his round overhanging stomach made a personal space bubble that just added more distance between their mouths and his ears. But then Bull came.

 

      Bull made him feel tiny. Last time Mertam was measured he was just under at six feet, eleven inches, horns included. That meant Bull must have been knocking on the half way mark to eight foot. And this was being conservative in his guessing. He was probably taller. And while Mertam was wider in the stomach and hips, giving him an almost pair shaped build, Bull’s shoulders were much broader and gave him an almost imposing presence. And presence that he found so damned attractive.

 

     “Oh come on you get it, stiff like-“ Bull attempted to repeated the joke but Mertam just shook his head quickly.

 

      “Yes yes, no I get it. Like your dick.” To which Bull replied with another stomach heavy laugh.

 

     It wasn’t that Mertam didn’t find the joke funny, he smiled despite himself but he hated talking with Bull about sex. No, correction, he hated hearing about sex from Bull when Mertam had all but laid down a trail of flowers to entice Bull into his bedroom and even a romance if he was open to it.

 

     Now, Mertam was far from a virgin. He’d have his share of hopeless romances, and one night stands and friends with benefits relationships but he’d never had this much trouble showing someone he was interested in them. Hell, on the rare occasions where Bull wasn’t up to the long horseback rides, Mertam brought Bull to every assignment he rationally could. Mertam had even inserted himself in a few that only needed Inquisition Troops _just_ to have a reason to sit around the fire with Bull.

 

     It still made no sense though why his approach didn’t work. Maybe he was too subtle? The cooks and even Chantry Sisters that snickered and whispered about their encounters with Bull never had this much trouble. All they had to do was stammer a bit, laugh at his jokes and maybe blush some and Bull would let them into his bed. And they were just curious and trying to get into his loins.  What did he have to do to get Bull to least notice him? Dress up as a Chantry Sister? No that was ridiculous. He’d never fit into that outfit and the beard was a dead giveaway.

 

     Or maybe it was something else. Bull could already know being Ben-Hassrath and all. He could have just been kind enough not to reject him outright. If that was the case, it was a crueler torture than a firm “no”.

 

     “This Orleasian?” Bull took Mertam’s coffee cup from his hand and pulled him back to reality. How long he’d been in his own head he wasn’t sure.

 

     “The cup or the coffee?” Mertam asked and watching Bull put the cup up to his lips but stopped short.

 

     “The coffee. The cups looks Ferelden to me.” Bull answered and finally took a gulp of liquid that was probably lukewarm by then.

           

     “You’re correct. On both.” Mertam stared at the tower just next to Bull’s head to keep from thinking about Bulls lips on his cup, where his own lips had just been. “I received a set from King Alistar as a gift. And the coffee is from an Orleasian merchant that comes by from time to time.”

           

     “Hmm.” Bull looked into the cup with skepticism and smacked his lips a few times. He took another taste before finally shaking his head disapprovingly. “This ain’t Orleasian coffee. It’s from Rivain. Mostly Rivaini at least.”

           

     “How can you tell?” Mertam asked.

 

     He’d asked partially because he was just curious but it was mostly because he loved to hear Bull talk through his observations. They were always seemed so in plain sight and obvious once he revealed them. “That man’s a spy because the mud on his shoes is the wrong color.” “Someone’s been following us for miles because the bird’s songs return on our path on a slight delay.” Insignificant but he saw it all and could deduce amazing things from just the way someone lifted their spoon for breakfast.

 

     What did he know about the merchant, Douglas what’s-his-face. Was there something in the way he walked or talked that showed he was a liar? What had Bull seen from never interacting with this merchant except for the off chance passing at the gates that Mertam himself didn’t see?

 

     “Can’t grow coffee in Orlais.” He smiled, handing the cup back to Mertam leaving him a bit stunned. “Least none that’s worth it’s shit. Hell of a lot cheaper to import the stuff and make a blend. Give it a smell.”

 

     Mertam listened without hesitation and gave what was left in the cup a sniff. He’d smelled it before but all he cared about was that it smelled like morning awareness in a cup. But this time he mused on the smells going into his nose with careful consideration. Chocolate but something else? Like wet earth maybe? Not pluff mud, nothing foul as that. More like rich earth after a heavy rain. If the coffee itself wasn’t relaxing, the smell would do the same for sure. After that day, Mertam always made the effort to enjoy the aroma of his coffee, especially when it was from someplace new.

 

     “Can’t get the smell in Orlais.” Bull nodded, proud of himself and his observations. Mertam found his mind as beautiful as his face.

 

     “I suppose I should be more careful with what I drink.” Mertam laughed. There hadn’t been any poisoning or assassination attempts that he knew of and the “knew of” part was important. Between Leliana’s spies, Sera’s connections with the “little guys”, the people that Varric certainly had working the Inquisition and of course, Iron Bull, there wasn’t a chance an assassin could succeed. They’d take two steps before they realized they were already dead.

 

     “Well yeah, you are the big guy on the throne now.” Bull cracked his neck. “But it’s not like he gave you shit coffee so at least that’s a thing.”

 

     “That is true. Still a bit rude to lie like that.” Mertam fidgeted with his cup, twisting it in his hands unable to drink from it anymore. The lie could be that the merchant’s actions soured the taste in his mouth but it was far more dramatic. Bull had put his lips to his cup and he just couldn’t drink after him. Not without feeling like a rutting teenager all over again. And he was far too old to be getting flustered over something as small as sharing a cup.

 

     “Oh, yeah it was definitely rude.” Bull grinned. “But your Vashoth, he probably just thought you won’t know any better.”

_Hm._

           

     Bull hadn’t meant for those words to sting. The smile on his face and the way he was calmly staring out at the snow showed there was no ill intent. But it hurt none the less.

           

     Mertam’s parents were mercenary folk. They took the jobs because they had no other choice. They were Tal-Vashoth and options were limited for those that defected from the Qun. The odds that someone would come to retrieve a farmer’s new help or a merchant’s crew newest shop worker were risky of a gamble for most.  But his parents tried to give Mertam the best they could with what they had.

           

     Tutors in art, books to read until his eyes grew heavy at night, magic lessons to control his powers were all normal parts of his childhood. They tested him on Thedas history, hammered in understanding political conflicts of land owners and wealth holders and made sure he was literate in map reading. Then there was running numbers to hammer in math skills and impromptu astronomy quizzes when they caught the stars on a clear night. A lot of it didn’t stick but they wanted to prepare him for a safe life. One where he didn’t have to sell safety to eat or sleep under a roof. One where his magic never had to be used and no one would find another reason to look down on him.

           

     But it wasn’t much easier for Vashoth. Humans and the like all saw them as the same. Anyone with horns were Qunari and treated the philosophy as a race instead of a way of life. They saw them all as brutes and beasts closer to animals than men. Mertam recalled being called an Ox-man more times than his temper should have allowed when he was still the “Herald”. But he’d also heard them call Bull the same when they thought their whispers wouldn’t reach his ears.

           

     For Bull to point out his Vashoth status, again not that he meant it, felt to Mertam that it came from his own prejudice of his kind, and less to do with what humans thought.

           

     “Do you think badly of me?” Mertam asked before he could filter his words.

 

     Bull just blinked, turning his head Mertam to get a look at him. Though Bull’s eye wasn’t darting back and forth, Mertam knew Bull was trying to deduce something in his face and body. Trying to find the right answer for the question that caught him off guard.  

           

     Bull should have been able to see the answer on his face though. The right answer to the question was no. No, Bull should say, he didn’t think badly of Mertam because he’s Vashoth. The true answer was for Bull to acknowledge that Mertam was falling for him. To stop pretending he didn’t see all the signs or catch the hints and say that being a Vashoth wasn’t the reason he was ignoring them all.

           

     “You’ve asked me this before, Boss.” Bull calmly answered, pulling from their earlier conversation when they first met.  Mertam’s noses scrunched up in frustration and gripped the handle of his cup hard enough that he worried it would snap. “I didn’t realize you were so self-conscious.” Bull tried to joke to ease the tension.

           

     It didn’t work.

           

     “I’m not self-conscious.” Mertam blistered but it was a lie if ever there was one. He knew he was self-conscious and painfully self-critical when he wasn’t with people like him. The way his parents hammered in him that he needed to be better than the stereotypes had the opposite effect. There was an all-consuming fear of becoming the beast that humans and elves and dwarfs and Qunari thought. They were suffocating and he knew he tampered his behaviors out those fears. He’d bit his tongue in times that rightfully deserved his wrath just to keep people from calling him a savage.

           

     And he wouldn’t lie and say that he hadn’t used the Inquisitor’s throne and its power to chase those stereotypes away. When Vivienne offered to find him a proper tailor to jumped to wearing the shimmering, custom clothes of the nobility. He bathed often and vigorously until his skin and hair reeked of sweet expensive and exotic soaps. He massaged creamy gold shea butter into his hair and beard until every blue-black strand shined like polished onyx. His appearance was always meticulously maintained but it was such a distressing experience he never found any joy from it.  

           

     So yes, he was self-conscious but that’s not what he wanted Bull to say. It was the one thing he wished he could hid behind a lock and key and throw it into the deepest part of the sea.  

           

     “Never mind.” Mertam took in a deep breath and let it out, trying to exhale all the anxiety within his body. “Forget I said anything.”

           

     Bull grunted, and then groaned and then pushed away from the stone wall in one swift movement. Mertam kept his eyes forward on the sea of snow so that he wouldn’t feel crushed by the sight of Bull’s body leaving his periphery.

           

     “You’re Vashoth and I’m Qunari.” Bull said, placing a strong hand on the center of Mertam’s back. Mertam placed his cup on the stone wall and tried not to lean into the warm touch. “I’m supposed to hate you but I’m just not like that.”

           

     Mertam just nodded, his stomach hurt and his nerves made the joints in his hand hurt. He felt awful and anxious and embarrassed and tried to stay focused on his breathing while Bull talked. It was the only thing keeping him from walking off to save face.

           

     Bull’s hand moved up his back and grabbed a hold of his shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze and a hard shake.  Mertam turned his head in response and then shifted his body to follow. Bull let go of his shoulder so that Mertam could press his back against the wall comfortably but he immediately put his hand back once Mertam settled in. 

           

     “Being Vashoth is important to you, so I’m not gonna say something stupid like ‘I don’t care if you’re Vashoth.’ Bull smiled and that smile hit Mertam in the stomach like a Bronto. It was like sunlight braking through a forest canopy, warm and gentle and life giving and all the other poetic metaphors he couldn’t quite grasp. “Yea, I had to kill Tal-Vashoth but it’s no different than Templar putting down bad mages or guards taking down thieves.” He groaned a little, like he was racking his head for the right words. “You’re not ‘one of the good ones’, Boss. You’re just a good man. You shouldn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks about you though, including me.”

           

     “Yes, I guess you’re right.” Mertam said and Bull slapped his shoulder hard and playfully.

           

     “Damn right I’m right!” Bull laughed and slapped his shoulder once again.

 

     Mertam laughed with him but winced, rubbing his shoulder as the pain went from warm heat to an all-over tingle. For half a second his mind flashed to a conversation they’d had about sex and how Bull was into the kinkyer stuff. _No. No no. No._ He nipped that thought in the bud before his let his mind connect that moment with the present any further.

 

     “I’m gonna get going. Get the old knee moving.” Bull said, and gave Mertam an obvious once over to make sure he was alright. And to make sure Mertam knew he was checking.  Mertam flashed a small smile on instinct and Bull nodded to himself.

 

     “Don’t hurt yourself.” Mertam said, reaching backwards to grab his cup to give his hands something to do. But he knocked it and it rolled and then fell. Mertam spun around to grab it before fell out of his reach and stopped being a cup and instead shards when it hit the ground. Miraculously, he grabbed it, saving the cup mid fall but half his body hung dangerously over the edge of the wall. Now, Mertam wasn’t afraid of heights, too tall for that, but the sight of the ground seemed to fly up and smack him in the face. Vertigo overcame him and he couldn’t figure out how to right himself again.

 

     Before he died, Bull grabbed him by his belt, yanking him backwards and to safety once again.

 

     “I’ll be _real_ careful.” Bull said sarcastically but playfully, letting go of Mertam’s pants and hobbling down the battlement’s walkways. 

 

     Mertam reached into his pocket and grabbed a handkerchief. His forehead and cheeks and lips were covered sweat and humid wetness that needed to go. He rubbed off vigorously but it also served as a moment to cover his face and re-center himself. 

 

     A visit to a healer was in order with the way his heart had been put through the paces so early in the morning. One minute it hammered like a tight skinned drum, then it was relaxed, then it dropped into the bottom of his stomach and shot back up and almost out of his throat.

 

     He was hit with the sudden overwhelming urge to get off the battlement pathway before Bull made the return trip back and headed straight for the stairs. He hastily stuffed his handkerchief back in his pocket and held a tight grip the coffee cup so he wouldn’t have to rescue the damn thing again.  

 

     The gardens were a good spot to go and bring himself back to base to get ready for the day’s events. 

 

     There were still the worries about his earlier to do list in his head of course. The nobles to meet, requisition officer to talk to, and possible Sera fires to put out. But there was another more intrusive thought in his head. Iron Bull. Handsome, powerful, courageous, self-assured, kind, handsome. _Handsome? I already said handsome, shit_. Mertam picked up the pace down the stairs.

 

     Aside from causing him heart distress the morning, talking with Bull did make one thing clear. He needed to be more confident. He needed to worry less about what people saw in him because he knew in his heart no matter what he did, he’d be the beast. They’d circle him curiously, complement his ability to speak as if someone had trained a dog to bark on command or marvel at his find clothes as if he should have been wearing rags like a wild man.

 

     They’d still try, and many were successful in the past, to get into his trousers. They wanted to see if the rumors, stereotypes they thought positive and complementary were true. He’d even fed into their fantasies at his lowest because he craved their validation. Even if it killed what pride he had in the slowest way possible.

 

     He needed to stop caring about that. Of course, he’d keep myself clean but he wouldn’t scrub his skin into it was raw or panic when his thick hair wouldn’t tame themselves in a tight neat bun. He use to wear his hair down all the time, letting it fan around his face like the jet-black lion’s mane and whip in the wind during battle. And so, he did just that.

 

     At the bottom of the stairs he reached back and pulled the cord that bound his hair and left it fall naturally. His shook his fingers through it, still wet from the humid air and his earlier bath but it felt so freeing already. There was no longer that tight tension around his hair line. People would think he was more intimidating with the beard combination but that would have to be okay. They’d have to get over it.

 

      Maybe he’d order more comfortable casual clothes. Some looser pants and relaxed fit shirts. There was always the option to go entirely shirtless like Bull did but Josephine would faint from the indecency of it all. _Or_ she’d like it, the prim woman had a wild side she didn’t think anyone saw. He just need clothes that didn’t dig into his stomach and fat and make him appear smaller. There was nothing he could do about the clothes outside but he made a mental note to head back to his bedroom to find less restrictive garments before he started the day.

 

     And he’d have to outright tell Bull how he felt. The fact that he was Vashoth didn’t seem like the problem but maybe it was Mertam’s worries about their differences that kept Bull from acknowledging his affections. Or something else, maybe Mertam’s fears were too close to home.

 

     Iron Bull was a Qunari. All Qunari, whether they admitted it or not, worried about becoming Tal-Vashoth and what their fate would be. He’d seen enough recent Tal-Vashoth lose their way from lack of direction, and guidance and purpose. The Vashoth and better adjusted Tal-Vashoth did what they could help but sometimes it was a fruitless effort. They’d catch wind of a “Qunari” attack or string of thefts. And then they’d hear that the rampaging “Qunari” just disappeared into the night with a single clue to their whereabouts.

 

     When a voice says that if you live outside these specific rules, you’ll turn into an animal, it’s hard not believe the voice to be true. Mertam’s parents didn’t mean to cause him this harm but they had and it was something he had to work to fix. For Bull, he didn’t have two people repeating this fears but a whole society reinforcing them. Bull had turned himself back to the Qun even after endless fighting made him hollow and broken. Walking forward and leaving the Qun wasn’t even an option, not after having that fear reinforced so long. So, he’d chose to do nothing. He waited for death or for someone to gather him up.

 

Bull could probably see the fear on Mertam’s face about being perceived, a constant reminder of his own worries. Bull was playing Tal-Vashoth but he was Qunari. A title he kept close to his heart like a final life line.

 

     Mertam went up various stairs and took different short cuts until he found himself inside the gardens. It was just as humid, if not more, as the battlements because of the close walls and slight ceiling. Good for the plants, not good for Mertam’s ability to get comfortable. He cleaned his face off again and found a seat on a stone bench under some shade.

 

     His hands rotated his cup, now empty from falling over the edge of the wall, but still thought about the fact that Bull had ‘kissed’ it with his lips.

 

     Bull created a lot of comfort for Mertam because he had someone to talk to about things unique to just the two of them in Skyhold. He had someone to complain about with his horns hurt and needed recommendations on good creams for it. Or the fact that the chairs were too small and could wonder out loud if he should order bigger tables because they bumped his knees.

 

     But what was he doing for Bull? What did he bring to the relationship if he should continue to pine for him? Bull was his friend but he wanted more than that but he had to give something too.

 

     Mertam placed the cup the side and watched one of the herbalist shuffle tiredly into the garden with a basket under her arm. She waved and greeted him.

 

     “You should wear your hair out more, Your Highness!” She called out and he smiled, and thanked her for the suggestion.

 

     He would do that but he’d already decided on that change. And all the other changes he’d make to be more comfortable and confident in himself were decided. Bull was trained to read people, and so he could see all Mertam’s fears on his face so he’d overcome them. He wouldn’t worry Bull, carry his weight around like the leader he was and not a coward walking on egg shells. He’d be as much of a safe space for him as Bull was for him.

 

     He looked down at his shirt, his soft chest bound by the tight and thick fabric until it was flat.

 

     And maybe he needed to show off his bust more. Bull seemed to go for the Chantry sisters with the biggest tits.

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first piece of fiction that I’ve written taken my ADHD medication. It’s one of the things I’ve suffered with my entire and it has made writing and other creative things hard for me. Writing this was a new experience that I’ve never felt before. The words came so much easier and they came so much clear.  
> I can’t wait to do more writing for Mertam as well as my other characters in Dragon Age and Mass Effect. So prepare for more writing from the Octodude. 
> 
> Check out my artwork over on 8-Legs.Tumblr.com


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